


What Were You Thinking?

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [50]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Celegorm hurts.





	What Were You Thinking?

Maedhros stepped over a half-filled crate that blocked his path and kicked aside another. Different parts of the house were in different states of chaos – somehow, the stairways and halls had become a dumping ground for unwanted items, and the landings held copious amounts of wooden storage crates and leather travel bags. Upon finally reaching his destination, Maedhros had to give the door of the room he wanted to enter a good shove with his shoulder, for the clutter on the other side barely wished to move. “What were you thinking?” he asked as soon as he managed to gain entrance. The door was shut again.

“I asked the same,” responded Maglor, who was taking up residence on the foot of the bed. It seemed everyone still had packing to do except for Maglor, who had already taken up the task of boxing whatever he thought they might need from the common areas – no doubt a job their mother would have seen to, had she not already given up on their father and gone back to her own father’s home. “He refuses to give any of us an answer.”

Curufin was half-heartedly helping to pack what was in the room, undoubtedly avoiding his own chore. Caranthir was perched on the windowsill, looking out over the garden with a miserable expression on his face. It had already come up twice that Caranthir had considered staying, and the fact that their grandfather was to come with them into exile was the only thing that prevented Caranthir from too much fuss.

On the floor with piles of clothing surrounding him, Celegorm appeared to have ignored his older brothers until he said, “I apologize if I have things on my mind other than blacksmithing and music.”

“I think the music reference is intended for you, Laurë,” said Caranthir from the window.

“Indeed,” replied Maglor, and he smiled slightly.

With a heavy sigh, Maedhros carefully stepped over the heavy thumping tail of Huan and managed to make his way to the bed without too much disruption. He shoved aside a pile of books in order to make room for himself. “People are talking, Tyelkormo.”

“You mean, with their mouths? As in, speaking and conversing with one another?” Celegorm’s mock surprise made Curufin laugh. It always did.

“You have put everyone in a tight spot over this. If Uncle Ñolofinwë says no, it looks like he is doing so just to spite father in all of this,” explained Maedhros.

“There is nothing that says he has to say no. In fact, I most certainly hope he says yes!” The last bit came out as almost a growl, and Huan raised his head in concern for his master.

Maedhros sat up straight, not about to appear passive in the matter. “What are you going to do if he consents to you? Court her? Publicly? Announce an engagement? Bring her to Formenos with us? Bind to her?”

“That would be the point in asking her father for her hand in marriage,” replied Celegorm tersely. He stopped folding the items he was taking with him and began to shove shirts and trousers sloppily into the wooden chest. “I thought that was the proper way of it – much better than simply riding off with her and not telling anyone.”

“And what then? When cousin and cousin bind, and through that union beget children, how will everyone talk then? Tyelkormo, I have always thought you a little mad, but I never knew you to be insane!”

“I am not insane,” corrected Celegorm quite calmly. “I am in love. I find it wholly ironic that you should scold me for the thoughts of binding with a cousin. As for your notion of children, be well advised of the fact I will not be the one to make any of you an uncle, nor do I myself intend to be a father.”

Maglor laughed, and though he had intended to stay silent, said, “That sort of thing just happens, you know. Look at our cousin Turukáno. He certainly had no intention of what happened there.”

Celegorm shook his head, but did consider Maglor’s words. Privately, Celegorm tended to think the rest of his brothers were lesser copies of his father – blacksmiths, every one of them, except for Maglor. With Maglor, you could have a conversation without it leading back to soldering or metallurgy or a hundred other boring things one could do with fire and steel. And yet, Maglor did not seem to understand either.

“If that is the primary concern that everyone has, then I would take her as wife and treat her as a beloved sister.”

“How long would that last?” mumbled Caranthir. “A week?”

“A day,” added Maedhros. There were chuckles and smirks again, laughter that stung and caused Celegorm to hastily rise and throw the tunic in his hands onto the ground. 

“Enough, from all of you!” he shouted, and his brothers became deathly silent and focused upon him. “You mock me, because I am in love. Something as sacred as this, and you scorn me! I did not ask it to be my cousin, but by Eru’s will, she is my cousin, and I shall despise all who stand in my way.”

“Turcafinwë!” The voice of Feanor carried down the hallway and through the closed door. All including Celegorm listened. “You have... a visitor.”

“Father is unhappy,” mumbled Maedhros. “It must be Uncle Ñolofinwë who has come.”

“He always liked Írissë, so if it was her he would not be so terse,” added Maglor in agreement.

The mention of her name made Celegorm swallow hard, and he crossed the room without saying anything to his brothers. His walk down the hall seemed longer than it had ever before. He passed the sitting room and saw his father on a large chair, the only thing left in the room. Even the carpets had been rolled up and set in the forge to be taken with them. Feanor sat in the darkness, holding a small glass in one hand. The bottle was in the other. Celegorm cast his eyes down and walked swiftly, knowing his father was watching and that he would have to explain himself later, one way or the other.

As predicted, it was their uncle waiting on the walk that led to the house. Celegorm lifted his head after a steadying breath and walked as nobly as he knew how, with slow and patient steps, reminding himself as he had when he had first gone to speak to his uncle that it was better to look like a husband than a hunter if asking someone for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

There was an unreadable expression on Fingolfin’s face, and it stayed there as Celegorm waited. It seemed even longer than the walk down the hallway; a test, perhaps, thought Celegorm as a dozen possible ways for his uncle to say no filled his head. When Fingolfin opened his mouth to speak, Celegorm held his breath.

“We are being watched.”

Celegorm turned his head and found no one behind him. He looked around the other way, and then following his uncle’s line of vision noticed Caranthir, still sitting in the window of his bedroom above them, only now Curufin and Maglor were standing behind him, and Maedhros behind them. The window appeared in place, but upon a second glance, Celegorm noticed that it was propped open at the bottom with a book in an attempt for them to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Without discussion, Fingolfin walked away from the house. Celegorm saved the vicious glare he wanted to give to his brothers for later and followed. When they reached the road, too far to be heard by anyone in the house, Fingolfin made a motion with his hand. Celegorm came past the high fence that surrounded his father’s land and saw that all three of Fingolfin’s sons had traveled with him. Neither Fingon nor Argon looked affected by the situation one way or the other – in fact, Fingon looked somewhat sympathetic. Turgon, on the other hand, looked positively livid. The expression as the three brothers rode a little ways down the road gave some hope to Celegorm.

“Now that we have some privacy, I will address the request you have made.” Fingolfin sighed, and it puzzled Celegorm as his uncle paused and seemed almost to rethink whatever answer he had intended. “Írissë is very special to me, and it pleased me that you were kind enough to come to me as is proper.” 

There was another pause, and Celegorm closed his eyes. The news was not good, and his uncle tried to find the easiest way to say what needed to be said. In the end, there was no good way of doing so.

“I cannot consent to your request of courtship.”

The pain, greater than expected, tore through him. Celegorm set his jaw; not one to cry, he nodded and kept his eyes closed. It was what he had been expecting.

“Not yet.”

Celegorm continued to nod, but now he looked at his uncle with questioning eyes.

Fingolfin took a step closer and set his hands upon Celegorm’s shoulders. “I need to know if you love her, or if this is some folly.”

“If I did not love her, it would not ache my heart so to obey your order.” Then Celegorm, proud son of Feanor, penitently lowered his eyes and begged. “Please reconsider. I need her.”

“Come to me when you have returned from Formenos and I shall answer to you, yes or no, at that time.” Fingolfin withdrew.

Grief choked Celegorm’s words as he continued to plead. “I will be lost there without her!”

“Then go not into exile with your father,” suggested Fingolfin. “Or is it that the love for your father is greater than that of your beloved?”

“It is different; you must know that!” Celegorm steadied himself, for Fingolfin’s sons were ready and not so far away, and had probably heard him shout. “It is different,” he repeated. “To him, I have sworn an oath.”

Fingolfin nodded gravely. “And for that reason do I hold back my decision. You must understand that marriage is an oath of another kind, and I am not sure whatever oath you and your brothers have sworn to is the sort which can coexist happily with the bliss of being newly wed.” Again Fingolfin stepped forward and set one hand this time upon Celegorm. “Use this time to understand your heart and your mind, and when you return, seek me again and tell me not that you love my daughter, but why you love her, and I shall consider giving you my consent.”

Celegorm did not answer, nor did he nod. He watched as Fingolfin stepped away, and eventually took the reins of his horse and mounted. “On the day I return, I shall seek your counsel uncle, but know this: Even if you deny her to me, there is no other I shall love as I love her.”

Fingolfin gave his nephew one last look before guiding his horse around and spurring her to join his sons at the bottom of the hill. Celegorm watched them leave, and as he followed their path, he noted that they were riding toward a lone figure upon horseback. 

The intangible wounds freshly scraped into his soul bled anew as he watched her from afar. His first thought was how cruel his uncle was, to bring her with them and leave her so far away where he could not speak to her and saw her only as something so distorted and unattainable. Then his thoughts changed to those of reason, and rationally he convinced himself that it was what could be offered now – she was not shut away from him, only a goal that would be difficult, yet not impossible to reach. She was there, she had come, but she had stayed safely away. Had she arrived with her father, Celegorm was certain he would not have known the calm and patience he had.

He waited until they reached her, and when he saw the others turn their horses and Fingolfin raise his arm to him in farewell from afar, Celegorm realized it had been a test of some sort. Celegorm raised his own arm into the air, and lowered it as they disappeared out of sight.

As he numbly returned to the house, he noted the window of his room was yet open, though no one was peering out of it. There was a glow of light, and voices which he heard as he approached. He entered the house quietly, said nothing to his father (still in the sitting room, perhaps sleeping now, for he appeared relaxed and had his eyes shut), and made his way through the obstacles on the steps and in the hall.

The mess behind his door was still there to cause difficulty in entering. His guests now numbered six, and all silenced when Celegorm entered. Huan barked at the sudden quiet, and upon seeing his master, flopped over onto his back in hopes of a belly rub. The impact shook anything in the room not bolted down.

“What did he say?” asked Curufin as Celegorm dug out the area behind the door in order to shove it open the rest of the way. Huan gave a little whine and beat his tail against the floor.

Celegorm looked around, all eyes focused on him. Even Huan was looking up with some sort of expectation – well, that was what one got when one owned a talking dog who understood everything you said. “Some watchdog I have,” said Celegorm as he faced the wall and inspected a crack that had been there for centuries. “He barks at his master, and he lets all of you in without warning.”

“He barked at us, too,” said Ambarussa in defense of Huan.

“I thought he was a hunting dog,” Ambarto added.

Celegorm continued to push around the items he had found behind the door, his back to his brothers. “So he is. In that case, I wish to be alone with my hunting dog.”

Some began to protest, but Maedhros noted the way Celegorm kept turned away, the quick swipe of his sleeve across his face. “I think it is time we return to our own rooms. Father wants to leave tomorrow and will not be happy if we are not properly packed.” Maedhros ushered the others from the room as Celegorm skillfully avoided eye-contact. Just before leaving, Maedhros stood at the doorway and asked, “Are you going to be alright?”

Celegorm shook his head. “I still want to be left alone,” he said before Maedhros could offer his usual ‘eldest brother support’. Maedhros nodded and closed the door.


End file.
